Our mistress, our preceptress? She brings forth
Her brood with equal care, loves all alike,
And to the meanest as the greatest yields
Her sunny splendors and her fruitful rains.
Love all flowers, then. Be sure that wisdom lies
In every leaf and bloom; o'er hills and dales;
And thymy mountains; sylvan solitudes
Where sweet-voiced waters sing the long year through;
In every haunt beneath the Eternal Sun,
Where Youth or Age sends forth its grateful prayer,